


Before The Flames

by Ecrivaisseur



Category: Revenge (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecrivaisseur/pseuds/Ecrivaisseur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Shot. The moment's leading up to Victoria Grayson's suicide in "Burn", as she reflects back on the life she led and how she will finally make Emily Thorne pay for what she's done. AU: If Victoria had actually died in the explosion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before The Flames

**Author's Note:**

> This is one-shot, AU of the moment's leading up to Victoria's suicide in the season 4 episode "Burn". Enjoy!

Before The Flames 

The bedazzled gown felt cool against her skin, icy even, due to it’s longtime, untouched inhabitance of her closet. It was a feeling she was used to - she felt it often with all the gowns she wore - yet, in that moment, it was rather ironic really. This feeling of coldness now, when she knew full well that the last thing she would feel on her body was _sizzling fire_.

She sighed, launching a ripple of clinking sequences that decorated her red, silk gown, and looked about the room.

The large living room of her beloved Grayson Manor - once, long ago, the setting of her fabulous parties and galas - was now draped in a hideous shade of brown, filled with offensively distasteful furniture, and decorated with art that wasn’t even worthy of a trash can. All done by the ineffable Emily Thorne.

Victoria scoffed. The mere thought of Emily/Amanda/ whatever alias she was going by that day made her want to vomit. She had  _despised_ the girl since the moment she met her, and she’d never liked her. Even when Emily was a child, Victoria had been particularly annoyed by the pouty girl, who always seemed to be whining about something. The memory of the girl being carried away by FBI agents, kicking and screaming bloody murder, all those years ago, played unpleasantly in her mind.

But, as bad as she was as a child, Emily Thorne was far worse as an adult.

Emily had always somehow managed to be one step ahead of her. Victoria wasn't sure how she’d been able to slip the drive out of that FBI agent’s pocket, earlier that morning back in New York City, but somehow she had. She _always_ seemed to find someone to come out ahead.

But that was about to change.

Her thick lips curved into a slim smile, her eyes brightened and a sense of pride rose up in her. _This time she was going to win_.

Victoria turned and slowly walked over to the fireplace, painted into Emily’s dreadful shade of brown, and bent forward slightly before it. Her delicate fingers curved around the iron edges of the gas valve at it’s foot, and she twisted it gently, releasing a flood of the invisible fumes into the large room with a sharp hiss.

She rose up from her stance.

In that moment, she fingered the golden, intricately-decorated lighter in her hand for a moment, though she slipped it back into the palm of her hand. _Not yet_ , she thought, _It’ll take time for the whole place to fill with the gas_. Besides, there was one more place she wanted to visit before she decimated herself and her sacred retreat. Her favorite spot of the whole house. _Her balcony_.

Victoria Grayson’s heels clicked in rhythm as she made her way out of the living room, through the entrance foyer and up the regal staircase of her manor. Memories of when the house was being built flashed through her mind, even after all those years, as she could instantly recall hand-picking out each and every detail that adorned the large mansion. Nothing had been done without her approval, and anything she had desired, anything she had even remotely wanted for her precious estate, had been bought and brought in. From the ornate wainscoting, to the gilded chandeliers; from the curtain patterns, to the color of the bathroom fixtures; from the ceiling design, to the front door knob. The same was true for all the furniture that had been there - now long gone, after having been auctioned off - and also the artwork. Every single detail and piece of furniture had been chosen by herself.

It seemed like now it was all for nothing. All her dedicated work would soon be up in flames. . . but then again, so would she.

As Victoria reached the top of the stairs, she passed by the Grayson family portrait that adorned the balcony: one of the few survivors left from an era before Emily Thorne’s arrival.

It was hanging there on the wall drearily, kept by Emily Thorne as a trophy of her conquer against the Grayson family. As if having their manor wasn’t enough, Emily also needed a physical reminder of the family she had destroyed.

Victoria stopped before it, pausing for a second to take a look at what once was her family. She carefully gazed at the four people pictured: the mighty Grayson family.

Victoria placed a hand against the beautiful face of her daughter, and pressed a kiss to it. _Charlotte_ , she thought, _I’ve never stopped loving you, my child_. The heated exchange she had with the girl in their last moments together stepped forward in her mind. How she regretted what she had put her daughter through…

Her hand slid away from the slim brunette to the handsome man behind her. Her dear son, _Daniel_.

The mere thought of her son caused her pain as she recalled his death, a mere few feet below from where she was standing now, and the disgraced, false ending that had been given to him, and that she and Margo had been forced to go along with.

All to protect that vile Emily Thorne.

The vicious predator had had it out for her son since before she’d even met him. The monster had ruined his life, had destroyed it, and in the end had gotten away with everything had ever done to her poor son.

Victoria could only find solace in knowing that very soon Emily Thorne would be serving a life sentence for her crimes. Soon she’d be paying for everything she had done to her family.

Victoria only took a slight glance at the third person in the picture, _Conrad_. She had to admit, her disgraced husband had been crucial in helping her rise out of poverty. He had given her a chance, though in the end, she’d been the one that had gotten herself to where she was today.

The only thing he had ever helped her to do was endure. The two had managed to survive for quite some time together. Perhaps it was their hatred for each other that had caused them to both survive for so long.

 _May he rest in hell_ , Victoria though to herself, since she very well knew that’s where her former husband was resting.

And last, but not least, the fourth person in the picture: _herself_. The powerful, self-proclaimed ‘Queen of The Hamptons'.

It was as if she was looking at a completely different person. A person who had _everything_. A life before Emily Thorne.

How Victoria longed to return to her former self. Though she couldn’t reflect on it. Not now, anyway. She had a task to complete.

* * *

 

Victoria walked out onto the balcony, sucking in her breath sharply and taking in the glorious view if offered. For years, this had been her escape from everything. From Conrad, from Emily, from all the problems life threw at her. The gentle sea breeze billowing through her hair, the soothing ripple of the waves in the background, the bright gaze of the sun, the cool touch of her hands against the smooth railing. It had all been apart of the relief she came here to experience.

Grayson Manor may have been her treasured haven, but her balcony was her sacred temple.

Victoria pulled the thin white wrap that was draped around her closer, protecting herself from the brisk, chilly air. It was a cool night out…

 _Perfect for a good fire on the beach_ , she thought as she turned away from the balcony and walked back inside. She didn’t want to prolong, this any longer.

* * *

 

“ _Enjoy your life in prison, my dear. May you suffer greatly._ ”

Victoria clicked the button at the center of the phone, ending the video, and she quickly scrolled through and sent it to Mason Tredwell with her precise instructions to send it to Emily Thorne after she was gone. When it would be too late for her to do anything.

Her plan to frame Emily Thorne for her death was going to work  _perfectly._ The woman would suffer for everything she'd done.

Victoria couldn’t help but wear a smile as she did so, the mere thought of Emily Thorne’s suffering bringing her happiness. She only wished that she would be around to see it, but, then again, she was willing to pay any price if it caused Emily pain.

This wouldn’t be just for her, but for Daniel, for Charlotte, even maybe for Conrad, and all the other people whose lives Emily Thorne had demolished.

_That bitch will pay._

She laid the phone down gently on a nearby table and took another last look around the large living room. A vision of her previous life flashed before her eyes; a vision of her fabulous balls and parties; the luncheons and brunches she had held; a vision of Daniel and Charlotte in their childhood years; a vision of her and Conrad; a vision of her mother.

Victoria blinked and it all faded away. That life had ended long ago. . .

She strolled to the center of the room, with her usually ease and elegance, stopping directly in front of _her_ chair, which she had had stolen back and then brought here to Grayson Manor for this fateful night.

The cream, french-script club chair that she stood before looked wanly back at her, like the comforting and familiar gaze of an old friend. It was the last token she had left of her days as queen of the Hamptons. Her _throne_ as it had been known to all, where she had presided over society and her family with grace and elegance. It was the last remnant of a long ago era.

And yet, here it was, back at Grayson Manor. Back where it belonged.

Victoria smiled. _It seemed fitting that the palace, the throne, and the queen would all share their ending together._

She turned and elegantly lowered herself into the chair, with all the poise and grace of a queen, like she always had done.

“Hmm” she mumbled to herself as she gently rubbed the armrest, thinking about what she was about to do next. Leaning back against the plush cushion, she sighed heavily, the smell of the gas which had been running this entire time filling her nostrils. It was a foreign smell, though, strangely, a comforting one.

She looked down at the golden object she gripped in her hand. Swiping her thumb carefully back and forth over the top, she took a final breath of this life.

 _Goodbye, world_ , she thought to herself as she pressed down against the top and swiped one final time.

Victoria Grayson closed her eyes calmly.

A spark ignited from the lighter in her hand, and the fire that escaped met with the gas in the air.

And then it all ended in flames. 


End file.
